


Innocent Child

by annabeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad boy beka, Barebacking, Beka is 15, JJ is 16, JJBella (peripheral), Jjbek, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, a smidge of angst, bottom!Beka, intoxication of multiple varieties, perverting the good Catholic boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: JJ follows all the rules. Untilheblows into his life, and wrecks the ship that Jean-Jacques's been smooth-sailing on.





	Innocent Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts).



> I wrote this as shamelessly self-and-other-indulgent porn for myself and Jen. She wanted bottom!Beka, and JJBek, and I wanted badboy!Beka, and oh, these things go deliciously together. I'm actually indecently proud of this fic.
> 
> Title from The Grass Roots.

Jean-Jacques, as his parents love to tell him—and anyone else who will listen—is a good boy. A pure, decent Christian boy. Their pride and joy; the light of their lives. His skating is so beautiful! His charity work is so generous. He's a wonderful volunteer. His relationship with his girlfriend is chaste and everything a teenage relationship between two Catholic kids should be. His parents can literally drone on and on.

And Jean-Jacques, for his part, doesn't mind. He enjoys the attention; deep in his heart, he's lonely, despite the elderly people at the nursing home where he volunteers or the tea dates with Izzy while his maman watches from a discreet distance. Every so often he's even able to take her out for coffee, as long as he brings along one of his younger siblings.

He hasn't so much as pecked her on the cheek yet. But that's okay. He can wait; he's a good Catholic boy. He knows how to behave himself. He doesn't curse; he doesn't masturbate.

He follows all the rules.

Until _he_ blows into his life, and wrecks the ship that Jean-Jacques's been smooth-sailing on.

His name is Otabek Altin, he's from Kazakhstan originally, and he moves to Montreal for training with JJ's parents when JJ is just sixteen years old.

Hell, as his grandmother might quaintly put it, if she were up to cursing, breaks loose.

The first problem is that Otabek Altin is _gorgeous_. JJ's never paid attention before, not to boys anyway, but there's something about Otabek that means JJ can't look away.

And so he's always looking. That's really the first thing that gets him into trouble. Because he wakes up one night two days after Otabek has been bunked on a cot in his room, and the cot is empty, the sheet undisturbed. JJ doesn't understand. He saw Otabek put his pajamas on—he'd been trying not to look, but Otabek's muscular torso practically announced itself in neon letters—and he was pretty sure he'd climbed into bed. So where is he?

Maybe it means he snuck out! JJ puts his feet over the edge of his bed, finding his slippers, pulling on his robe, and getting ready to tell his parents that the kid they're supposed to be billeting is sneaking out! In the middle of the night!

For some reason, though, JJ's feet don't travel the path to his parents' bedroom, but to the back door, where he can hear rustling on the stoop. He tightens the belt of his robe and tiptoes closer, then gently pushes the door open.

Jean-Jacques is a good Catholic boy with purity in his heart. It doesn't do a thing to explain why he doesn't shout for his parents as soon as he gets a good look at Otabek.

Otabek, whose hand is in his pants, moving in a way time immemorial that even JJ can recognize, a dirty magazine flipped on its side on his lap and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Oh hey, Jean," he says, as if this is perfectly natural. His hand doesn't pause; his mouth works around the cigarette. Upon closer inspection, the magazine is—gosh diddly darn! It's a copy of Playgirl. JJ only knows this because the logo is splashed across the bottom of a page with a naked—absolutely balls out nude—guy riding a horse.

With his hard dick out.

JJ thinks he may have gone a little pale.

"Wha-what are you _doing_?" he asks, knowing his mouth is catching flies, like his mother likes to say. He's going to have to say at least ten—no make that twenty—Hail Marys to make up for this!

"Well," Otabek says, in that accent that JJ definitely does not mean to find sexy, "I was trying to get some time to myself." Despite these words, he doesn't seem upset or cranky about being interrupted. In fact, his hand speeds up inside his pajama bottoms.

"You're… but that's so dirty!" JJ can't make up his mind which is worse: the sin of masturbation, or the smoking. Has to be the smoking, right? No, definitely the masturbation. Shi—shoot!

"You wanna help me out?" Otabek asks, one eyebrow arching, and oh, JJ wishes he could do that with _his_ eyebrow. He's about to demur—of course he's not going to get involved in something like this—when Otabek glances at him, first his crotch, then his face. JJ goes red all over. His cock is… shit, he's _hard_.

"I couldn't," JJ says, but Otabek takes one last drag on his cigarette and stomps it out under his combat boots. His sexy as sin combat boots. Before JJ can utter another word, Otabek lights up another cigarette, and holds his hand out to JJ.

"Try it. Slowly." His hand has finally stopped moving, but he hasn't pulled it out of his pants yet. This is it. The moment. The temptation, like Jesus faced in the desert—and JJ is ready. He's _so_ ready. He's a good Catholic boy with purity in his heart.

So why does he accept the cigarette, put it to his lips, and inhale? He forgets about Otabek's advice; the smoke burns into his lungs too quickly and he hacks and coughs, eyes suddenly streaming. But after a moment he manages to catch his breath. And somehow he keeps from puking in the grass.

This good Catholic boy—with purity in his heart and an unwavering devotion to God—inhales again. This time slowly. The smoke tingles and tastes awful, but his head swims pleasantly.

Otabek is watching, silently. He's often quiet, and JJ will overpower him in any conversation. Except this strange, half-verbal one that they're having now. In this conversation, JJ is in way over his head, and he can't go to his parents—so the only person he can rely on to help him navigate it is Otabek.

Years later, JJ will wonder at this leap of logic, that damnable lapse in judgment that led him down the wrong path. But not now.

Right now, JJ parts his lips to speak, handing the cigarette back. But instead he sinks to his knees, completely oblivious of the wet grass on the knees of his pajama pants, and he grips Otabek's wrist. He pulls it from his pajama pants, and Otabek lets him, watching curiously. As if he hasn't a care in the world.

He sucks the cigarette down to the filter faster than JJ thought possible, and stubs it out too. Then he smiles, lips curving wickedly. JJ has never seen Otabek smile before, and it's devastating. His heart pounds, his mouth goes dry, and he winds up with _his_ hand inside of Otabek's clothing, searching out the heat and length of him.

This is the beginning. The moment that JJ becomes a Catholic boy with sin in his heart. The moment that, in hushed whispers, Otabek explains to him what to do, because how is JJ supposed to know?

"Make a fist," he says first, "around my dick. Yeah, oh, like that, _yes_. Pump it up and down."

JJ complies, following instructions for this the same way he follows instructions in Sunday school. He even learns to slick up Otabek's cock with the fluid leaking from it and to twist his wrist on the upstroke; to thumb over the head.

Otabek eventually lapses into silence but for soft moans, thrusting his hips up. The magazine is lying on the grass, forgotten. JJ's not watching his hands anymore; he's staring at Otabek's face, which contorts beautifully just as his hips buck upward hard, and he gasps,

"Jean—" before he's coming.

JJ got The Talk, he knows what it is, but… "Gross."

"Let me see your hand," Otabek says, and when JJ holds out his soiled hand, Otabek licks it. He cleans his palm and his fingers with his tongue, and JJ feels his stomach drop out. What is going on here?

And what is he going to do about it?

~&~

"Fuck," whispers JJ into the dark, as Otabek's lips wrap around his cock. This is a new word; he's been trying it out every chance he gets, as long as his parents or siblings aren't around. Otabek seems to like this side of him.

"I'm thirsty," JJ adds a minute or so later, when Otabek's just breathing against his damp cock, teasing, like he likes to do. "I wanna taste—"

"You can," Otabek says in a husky voice. It's like gravel wrapped in velvet and JJ fists the bedsheets, unbearably turned on, aching and desperate. "I'll jack off into your mouth. Would you like that, Jean?"

His head feels three sizes too big. He's also kind of itchy under the skin. Otabek gave him some kind of pill and ever since he's been feeling disconnected and strange.

Everything is like, brighter colors than normal, and he's panting and sweating as Otabek goes to town on his dick. His licks are strong, and JJ feels buffeted by them, almost like he's caught in a storm. His mind panics a little, but then Otabek's mouth is a wet seal around his girth, and he forgets everything but the feel of it.

His eyes drift closed and his hips drift upward, seeking more of Otabek's hot mouth. His tongue traces the vein as he sucks, and JJ's not even aware that he's fucking into Otabek's throat until Otabek puts his arm across his pelvis and holds him down.

"I see flying piggies," JJ says, less of a moan and more of a whimper. "They're like, bright green. Shit, Beks."

"It's okay, Jean," Otabek murmurs against the tender skin of his dick. He's lapping at—holy fuck, JJ didn't even realize he was coming. The pleasure spikes in his lower back and his balls, and then he's left gasping.

"Keep your eyes closed," Otabek says, and JJ tries to remember if Otabek took any of what he gave him. He's not sure. He doesn't really care—he keeps his eyes shut and slowly ebbs away on the tide, listening to Otabek make some lusty, ear-candy type noises, until something hot and bitter hits his lips and tongue of his open mouth.

For hours afterward he feels woozy and strange, like reality has morphed into something he doesn't recognize.

After Otabek falls asleep, after JJ brushes his teeth and starts to feel more like himself again, he digs through Otabek's duffle.

At the bottom, wrapped in a sock, beneath a magazine cover crowing about some young junior skater—blond and pretty, but he's never heard of the kid before—JJ finds the bottle of Vicodin, prescribed for Otabek Altin.

It must say something about his eroding levels of purity and goodness that he doesn't really mind.

~&~

JJ was a good Catholic boy with purity in his heart before he met Otabek. Now, lying sprawled across his bed with a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand, he doesn't know what he is.

Certainly not _good_.

He gulps more of the whiskey before Otabek pulls it from nerveless fingers.

"Be careful, you're not used to the stuff," Otabek whispers. "And don't giggle so loud!"

But the thing is, Jean's parents are away at a conference, and they brought his siblings with them. They didn't think JJ needed supervision, and they didn't want to drag Otabek along when he wasn't technically part of the family, so the huge house is big and empty.

Next door, their half-deaf neighbor is supposed to be keeping an eye on them, but JJ doubts she can hear him through two sets of walls. Still, maybe Otabek has a point.

"Wanna blow you," JJ says breathlessly. He rolls onto his stomach, his head pleasantly heavy, his lungs still burning from the pack of cigarettes they'd smoked hanging out the windows.

"You wanna try something else?" Otabek asks, his pretty dark eyes so _intense_. "It'll be even better."

"Why the fuck not," JJ says, burping and giggling around the curse word. It feels so _damn_ good to say. Otabek gets clumsily to his feet, probably drunker than JJ is, and whips his hoodie up over his head. His t-shirt is next, and he's obviously warm, because there's sweat glistening on all of those delicious cut muscles.

"Whatcha doin, Beks?" JJ slurs, then laughs helplessly at the sound of his voice, the funny way the words seem to his ears.

"You a virgin, Jean?" Otabek asks. He's unbuckled his jeans and is unbuttoning them. JJ finds his vision caught, unable to look away. Otabek doesn't seem to mind; when he gets them unzipped, he does a little sashay of his hips to get them down, and then they slide right off.

"Of course I am," JJ manages, barely able to keep his wits about him; Otabek nude is an awe-inspiring—and brain melting—sight. Otabek's already got his briefs pulled down, and his cock is gorgeous and flushed, pointing upward.

That's when JJ realizes that he's just as hard, aching really, in his pants; he shifts his body around, but it doesn't help.

"Get naked, Jean," Otabek says, "we're gonna change that."

He's too drunk to remember why he shouldn't. So he fumbles with his pajama pants, and manages to kick them off so hard they go flying. He doesn't see where; he's too busy eating Otabek's nude body up with his eyes.

"Kay, Beks," he says willingly, smiling and feeling generally loopy. Otabek produces a little bottle from somewhere out of JJ's line of sight and then he climbs up onto the bed.

He straddles JJ's thighs, knees braced on the bed, and arches his back, reaching behind him.

"Hey, Beks—" JJ starts to say, but then his mouth catches flies again. It seems like Otabek always knows just how to render him speechless. Otabek's arm moves, the tendons and muscles straining and flexing, and JJ's cock bounces against his belly.

"Whaddya doin, Beks?" he repeats himself from earlier. Otabek slowly lowers down a little, and his face is wearing a blissed out expression.

"I'm finger-fucking myself open for you," Otabek says, and JJ's cock releases a little spurt of precome onto his abs. That beautiful mouth—the dirty things he says. It's heady; makes JJ drunker than the whiskey.

"I'm—you're—" He's trying to process, but his brain is literally sludge at this point. In the end it doesn't matter; Otabek does all the complicated stuff, anyway.

Otabek wipes his fingers across his own abs, leaving a shining streak of what must be lubricant—not that JJ's ever used any, even though Otabek taught him how to jerk off—and then his body is held over JJ, the tip of JJ's cock just barely brushing against the fluttering rim of Otabek's asshole.

He didn't even know people _did_ this.

"Calm down," Otabek says in his soft, accented voice, and then he sinks down just a little.

Holy _Mother of fucking God_ , is all JJ can think, as his dick pushes up inside. Otabek does a little wiggle of his hips and the cockhead digs in deeper, and his shaft begins to disappear into Otabek's body.

From this angle, he can see the way his hole swells outward, stretching around JJ, as Otabek adjusts and lowers down a little more.

"Fuck, you're big," Otabek says. "Bigger than I'm used to. You feel so good, Jean."

That is an understatement. JJ lost the ability to form any words beyond blasphemous curses long ago.

All at once, Otabek slides down fast, sitting against JJ's thighs, his cock dribbling down over itself.

"Touch me," Otabek suggests, and JJ's hands are on that beautiful cock like they're magnets and he's got actual steel encased inside his skin. He rubs Otabek as Otabek begins to rock gently back and forth, for the moment apparently content to just sit on JJ's lap with his dick buried in him as far as it'll go.

As for JJ, his mind helpfully provides words like _snug_ and _hot_ and _so tight_ , but there's not much else there but oatmeal.

When Otabek starts to actually fuck himself on JJ's dick, levering himself up and dropping back down, JJ loses all train of thought. His focus winnows down to the contact between their bodies and the way his cock feels surrounded by silky soft, hot flesh. It seems hotter and tighter the longer it goes on, and JJ can't remember that once he used to be a good Catholic boy with purity in his heart; all he knows is he's losing his virginity— _and_ his heart.

He comes too fast. He doesn't even know what he's doing when his hips get with the program without him and slam up into Otabek; it's probably the open mouth and the soft, surprised, pleased exhalation that Otabek makes that throws him over. All he knows is he crests the wave and then it's swamping him, a better, more intense orgasm than he's ever had.

His hands are clumsy on Otabek's dick as he shoots again and again inside, but between that and his uneven, rocky thrusts, Otabek seems to get what he needs to get there too, his body clamping around JJ's cock—and all the holy angels, it's even _tighter_ —and he spasms into JJ's hand, sending streaks of white into the air that land, haphazardly, on JJ's chest, his abs, his neck even.

It isn't until Otabek is lifting himself up and off that JJ realizes something.

He's never even kissed Otabek, not once.

~&~

"I'll write," JJ promises, trying not to reach for Otabek, to cling. Izzy's standing over there with his parents. Otabek is getting on a plane.

JJ thinks about how they smoked pot together, or the time that Otabek snuck out and came back rolling on E. How he'd been insatiable and rode JJ's cock all night.

He thinks about the pictures and videos of the petite blond on Otabek's phone, that he stole and snooped into when Otabek was in the shower.

How he's still never kissed Otabek and now he never will. How he says words in the dark, his hand on his own cock, that he never would have said a year ago.

JJ can't believe Otabek's really leaving Montreal.

"I know, Jean," Otabek says. He smiles. The sun is peeking over the horizon as Otabek turns around and walks away, rolling his suitcase behind him.

"I love you," JJ whispers.

Maybe _this_ is the genesis of sin. Loving someone enough to do whatever they like.

But Jean is a good Catholic boy, with a new kind of purity in his heart, and he loves so much he aches with it—and that has to be the answer.

Love can't be wrong.

Not even if Otabek Altin never kissed him, or said those words in his ear, like Jean might have one night when Otabek had fallen asleep curled up into him in bed.

But in the end, Jean-Jacques is _not_ a good boy. And neither was Otabek Altin.

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me (helm-puppet-trash) on [Tumblr](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com)!


End file.
